


I didn't know

by Higgystar



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:06:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Higgystar/pseuds/Higgystar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from the kink meme: It wasn't that Merle didn't think their dad wouldn't hurt Daryl when he left, he just didn't know how bad it would be since he doesn't have any scars of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I didn't know

Daryl doesn’t like talking about them. He doesn’t even like remembering that they exist, it’s why he didn’t give a shit about what he looked like, was hard to care when you never wanted to look in a mirror and see yourself. It didn’t matter how much he tried to forget about them, every day he felt them on his skin, pulling against his body with every movement, raised streaks over his body, glaring at him even though he couldn’t see most of them. They don’t hurt anymore, that stopped years ago, but they can still make him wince anyway.

He’d never meant for Merle to know. His older brother knew he was shy when it came to his body but never knew why and Daryl let him wonder as much as he’d wanted. Maybe Merle though it was because he was skinny, or because he was always dirty or something, but he only ever teased, he never asked. They didn’t share much between them when it came to words, neither were good at it and besides, emotions were for pussies as Merle would say. So when Merle shows up behind him whilst he’s tugging on a shirt that doesn’t need repairing, he’s surprised to say the least when he asks.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tugging down the shirt quickly he covers his back, needing the comfort of a shield right now, especially since he was still on edge having Merle here at the prison with them all. “Tell you what?” He doesn’t face his brother, instead focussing on unpacking, letting his fingers fidget and keep himself distracted.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Merle snarls and yanks at the back of his shirt, causing Daryl to winch at the cold air touching his skin and immediately check to see if anyone else was nearby. “You should have said something.”

The place is empty apart from the two of them, everyone probably giving Merle a wide berth and fixing the place after the attack. Giving a shrug he feels the clothing settle back into place and turns to face Merle with his face as uninterested as possible. Daryl doesn’t want to have this conversation and if he didn’t get worked up then Merle was less likely to push for it. “Weren’t nothing to say. It’s done.”

“How old were you?” Merle asks, his voice is rough and Daryl has known his brother long enough to hear the anger behind it. He hates when Merle is angry, he’s loud, boisterous and he knew it would probably take a physical fight to get it all out of his system. Right now he really wasn’t in the mood for it. So instead he turns it back on Merle with quiet words and hopes it will be enough to get Merle to shut up about it.

“How old were you?”

“It ain’t the same Daryl.”

He snorts at that. Did Merle think he was stupid? He knew their dad hadn’t only had it out for him, he’d seen the bruises, even patched up the cuts and mopped up the blood from Merle’s skin himself when he had to. If they’re going to go through this then he wasn’t going to put up with Merle’s lies. “Sure it is, it’s why you left isn’t it?”

“I left coz he fucking hit me, bastard never left a fucking mark though.” Merle hisses and when his older brother turns to pace for a while, unable to meet his eyes, Daryl knows he’s being honest.

“Oh.”

“Yeah oh.” Merle snarls, still pacing and sounding angrier with each word. Daryl moves to sit on the edge of the perch, letting his legs dangle over the sit and resting against the bars, letting Merle get it all out. “I ain’t got a mark on me, not one. Fucker liked to use his fists and feet on me, got a few broken bones and bruises, but never something like…”

“Guess I deserved an upgrade then.” He mutters around his thumbnail, chewing lightly on it and isn’t surprised when Merle sits next to him, slapping his hand away from his mouth like he always did.

“Didn’t deserve none of this baby brother. Not a damned bit of it.” Merle’s voice is quiet, the anger is still there, but only clear in the words not directed at Daryl but to whatever God or entity cared enough to listen to the ranting of Merle Dixon. “You weren’t like me, you didn’t start anything with him, you weren’t always out getting drunk or high, bringing the pigs down on our door like me. You didn’t deserve none of it!”

“Neither did you.” Daryl replies, looking over to Merle for a second before looking away again, picking at the flaking paint from the metal bar and ignoring when Merle reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder.

“Deserved it more than you ever could. I…I would never have gone if I’d known. I knew what he was like, but I didn’t know how far he’d go. I didn’t know.” Merle sounds so honest right then, so sincere that Daryl has to watch him then, able to just know what Merle was feeling right now. It wasn’t often that Merle ever admitted to being wrong, and though he’d waited his whole life for Merle to regret leaving, it’s nowhere near as uplifting as he thought it would be. Instead he shrugs again.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it fucking matters.”

And when Merle’s fingers dig into his shoulder, burying themselves there painfully Daryl flinches, yanking himself away and feeling the anger and upset over Merle leaving him all those years ago coming back up. He can’t help his raised voice, or the accusing glare he sends Merle, but what good would apologies do now? It didn’t mean shit. “Why? You gonna go back and fix it? Make everything better for me?” He shoves at his brother, but they both know it’s nowhere near hard enough for him to mean it. “Ain’t gonna happen Merle, you left and it got worse, ain’t nothing you can do about it now so just fucking leave it!”

As usual it’s a shouting match between them, but this time Daryl’s not backing down, no matter how much he just wants this conversation to go away. They’re not good with talking, but fighting was easy and in a way it made everything easier to say.

Merle is red in the face, growling at him and leaning closer, trying to be intimidating in a way that used to work before all of this. “I can’t! I can’t make it better and I can’t fix it, that bastard is dead already and I can’t kill him again no matter how much I want to.” His brother hits the bar with his stump, making the metal clang and giving a small yell of frustration mixed with pain.

“So leave it Merle! It don’t matter now.” Daryl feels so fucking frustrated with all of this, with bringing up shit that he’d thought was dead and buried long ago. Why did Merle always have to make things so difficult?

“Of course it matters, it happened to you so of course it fucking matters. After all these years you still don’t get that you fucking matter to me?”

The shouted words are full of rage, and though won’t admit to it, Daryl knows he’s upset about this whole thing, even though they had more important things to worry about. He doesn’t feel like answering, he never liked shouting even if he could give as good as he got if he was riled up. But like this with Merle asking the hard questions, the ones he never wanted to be asked, he just feels uncomfortable and out of place. It’s as if they should be on the back porch of their dad’s house, with the Georgia sun burning on the back of their necks instead of sitting in a prison hiding from the undead roaming the world.

When he eventually gets the want to speak again he’s grateful that Merle is quiet, even if he can still hear his brother’s heavy breathing beside him, just barely keeping in the  anger. Folding his arms on the bar he leans his chin on them, wishing he had picked a shirt with sleeve for a bit more cover right now. “Just leave it Merle.”

His brother had never been one to listen, or to give up when he wanted to know something. So it’s really no surprise that he keeps on, pushing and prodding, poking at old wounds almost literally. “I wanna know. I wanna know what he did to you. I want to know how you got every single one so I when I get down to hell I can do the same to that bastard when I find him.”

“I don’t remember.” He lies, flinching when Merle’s hand reaches out to him again, tracing over the neckline of his shirt, tugging it to slip down a little and reveal the edge of one mottled scar.

“I know you do.” Merle murmurs, and his voice is soft again, another contrast to his brother that he never got used to. From shouting to whispering almost in the same breath and always keeping Daryl unsure of where he stood with him. “I remember every hit I got, even if there ain’t no marks.”

He hates that Merle is being so understanding and gentle with him. He wants to yell that he’s not a pussy and he doesn’t need mollycoddling right now, but there’s a part of him that’s always loved this side of Merle. It’s the part of Merle that would let him share a bed after a nightmare and take Daryl on rides in the truck to nowhere special when the shouting at home got too much to handle. It’s the Merle he wishes other people could see sometimes.

“It don’t fucking matter Merle, ‘s just gonna make you mad anyway.” Daryl mumbles, closing his eyes when Merle’s fingers stroke over the back of his neck. He knows it’s meant to be reassuring, but when his thumb rubs in a circle it runs over a scar, hitting the bump over and over again in a way that’s just far too intimate for him to feel comfortable. Still he doesn’t pull away, just tenses a little and then even more when Merle asks his next question.

“But not mad at you. You know that right?”

Daryl doesn’t reply. Merle’s always been able to read him like a book and sometimes it’s better to give no answer than to lie. Instead he drops his head to his arms again, feels Merle’s hand tense on the back of his neck and he wonders for a moment if Merle’s going to strangle him. Instead the fingers rub over him again, softer than he thought possible for Merle and running to touch every inch of that one scar.

“It ain’t your fault baby brother.” Merle mutters, and Daryl can feel as he shuffles a little where he sits, clearly not comfortable with this conversation or actually showing that he gave a fuck. “You didn’t deserve any of them. He was an asshole, a sick fucker who should have had more comeuppance for what he did before he died. You didn’t deserve any of it, you didn’t do nothing wrong.”

Mumbling into his arms, Daryl knows Merle can hear him, bastard always heard everything even when he tried to hide it. “You weren’t there Merle.”

His brother sighs loudly, and the fingers on his back move to rest on his shoulder, holding him steady where they sit. Days ago he’d have given anything to be this close to Merle again, now here he was wishing he could just be alone. Merle was trying, he knows that, but it just feels like too little too late. He’s gotten used to licking his wounds by himself and receiving comfort and kind words from another, from someone who’d always told him to stop being so clingy, was hard to just suddenly accept. It’s like he’s suddenly getting a huge dose of the Merle he’d been missing and wasn’t sure how to deal with it.

“But I know you Daryl.” When he’s pulled sideways into a hug, Daryl doesn’t resist, just lets himself lean against Merle and try to get used to the feeling of getting something he’d always craved. “I know you ain’t never done anything to deserve any of these. You’re my sweet little baby brother, and I know you ain’t never done anything to deserve what that fucker did to you. I should have been there, I should never have left but I didn’t know he would do that to you. I knew you could take what I’d had to go through, you were stronger than me, you could cope, I knew you would, but I didn’t ever think-“

“I ain’t stronger than you.” Daryl interrupts, the thought is laughable and he’s just waiting for Merle to tackle him to the ground and prove Daryl right. Instead Merle moves himself closer, tucking Daryl’s head under his chin and if Daryl didn’t know any better he’d swear that Merle pressed a quick kiss to his hair.

“You’ve always been stronger than me baby brother.” Merle mutters, and Daryl can feel as his hands stroke over his back, mapping out each scar with gentle fingers, feeling the ridges and bumps that cross over his skin in streaks of purple and white. He knows they’ll never go away and he isn’t keen on having anyone touch them, but he’s not going to push away Merle right now. Not when for the first time in a long time he actually feels like his brother loves him. “Unfortunately you’ve got the proof.”

They sit in silence for a while, Merle’s hand still moving over his back and Daryl both wants to stay quiet and tell him everything. Now it’s in the open he wants to bare everything in one rush. Like ripping off a band aid he wants to release the secrets he’d held inside for so long and let Merle get angry and upset over what had happened to him. He wants to have this Merle here hold him like this and listen as he pointed to each scar and explained why and how he got it.

But they’re Dixons and they both suck at talking, so instead he simply presses against Merle a bit harder and enjoys when his brother tightens his grip a little more. “I hate them.” He murmurs, pressing his ear to Merle’s chest and listening to his heart beat loudly as Merle’s fingers moved over his shoulder to run beneath his shirt. Dirty nail scrape over his scar on his collarbone, picking at the mottled flesh before stroking over it again.

“I hate that I didn’t stay.” Merle admits and this time Daryl knows he isn’t imagining it when his big brother kisses his hair.

“I missed you Merle.”

“I missed you too baby brother.”

Daryl doesn’t think either of them know if they’re talking about now or before.


End file.
